


Casablanca Dreams

by Ytteb



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-05 23:24:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18838906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: Tony meets a stranger at his father's funeral - but is he a stranger? Most of the team involved at some point.This is AU as Tony's father dies while he is still working for NCIS.





	1. Chapter 1

Tony DiNozzo stood for a few moments gazing at the coffin.  He was aware of sympathetic arm pats and hugs as his fellow mourners passed by on the way to the reception.

Tony wasn’t at all sure what he should be feeling.  He had, of course, been to lots of funerals just not to his father’s.  In some ways it was similar to attending the funerals of those people he had liked but not been especially close to, but this was his father’s funeral and surely his emotions should be stirred more?  He grimaced as he remembered his father’s dictum that _DiNozzos don’t cry_ – and Tony really, really didn’t want to cry in public.  Perhaps, he decided, he should postpone a closer examination of his feelings until he was safely alone once more.

Tony sighed and realised he wasn’t alone – Jethro Gibbs was standing waiting for him.  Tony nodded in appreciation of the silent support and then saw that Agents McGee and Bishop were also waiting with Abby Sciuto almost vibrating with the urge to give him an Abby hug.

“Ready?” asked Gibbs.

“I guess,” said Tony with a touch of reluctance.

“Take your time,” said Gibbs.  He settled into parade rest giving the impression he’d wait all day if needed.

“Nah, I’m good.  Hey guys, thanks for coming.”

Bishop, McGee and Abby took this as a signal to draw near.

“We had to come,” said Abby, “For Senior … and for you.”

Tony managed a smile, “He loved you guys.  You should have heard him telling his friends at the retirement centre about you all.”

“And we loved him,” said Abby, giving Tony a hug.

“We’ll miss him,” said Ellie.

Tony nodded although he wasn’t sure how much he would agree.

“He was certainly larger than life,” said Tim.

Tony nodded again and sensed that McGee had been searching for the right words: words that acknowledged Senior’s character while also recognising that it hadn’t all been plain sailing between father and son.  And that, guessed Tony, reflected Tim’s troubled relationship with his own father where death had potentially brought both sorrow and relief.  Tony hoped that his nod relayed to Tim that he appreciated the sentiment.

Tony looked down the path and saw that the funeral director was hoping to get the cars moving to the reception.  He squared his shoulders in readiness for all the socialising that lay ahead.

“We’re heading back,” said Gibbs.  “You know, we’ve got …”

“I know, Boss.  It’s OK,” said Tony, “Crime isn’t gonna solve itself.  Like I said, I appreciate you coming.”

Gibbs put a hand on Tony’s shoulder, “You gonna be OK?”

“I’m fine.  Really.”

Gibbs gazed at him a moment or two longer to make sure he was telling the truth and then signalled the others that it was time to leave.  Ellie and Abby hugged him, and Tim offered a firm handshake and then Tony watched them go: he knew that they were working a tough and complicated cyber crime and needed to get back but part of him felt a familiar sense of loneliness and abandonment.

Tony turned back to the coffin and saw a man standing thoughtfully by the coffin.  There was something in the way he stood and watched that seemed familiar to Tony: the man was probably a few years older than Tony, but he looked a little lost and uncertain about what he should be doing.  Tony recognised that uncertainty from his own dealings with Senior.

“Can I help you?” he asked.  Talking to this stranger would delay the moment of leaving the graveside, the moment of acknowledging that his father was really dead and would not be turning up at inopportune moments to disrupt his life.  Tony thought that his life would be both emptier and more predictable now that Senior had gone.

“Excuse me?” came the reply.  The man looked a little startled, as if he had been lost in thought.

“There’s a reception at the Adams House,” said Tony, “You’re welcome to come.”

“Oh, I don’t know …”

“How did you know Sen – my father?”

“He was your father?  I didn’t realise, but I should have guessed – you look like him.  I’m sorry for your loss.”  He held out his hand.

“Thank you,” said Tony as he shook hands, “I’m Tony DiNozzo.”

“Yes, of course.  I’m Cris Maggio.”  He held on to Tony’s hand with both hands.  “It’s good to see you again.”

“Again?”

Cris gazed at Tony, “It was a long time ago.”

“Oh.  Well, look, I have to get to the reception – before the funeral director has a meltdown!  You want to come?”

Cris swiped at his eyes in sudden distress, “I’m not really sure why I came here … I don’t know anyone here,” he got some composure and managed a faint grin, “But I reckon I’ll be there …”

“OK,” said Tony, not at all sure he wanted to deal with the emotions of random people his father had collected in a long and haphazard life.  He had gone a few paces when Cris called after him,

“Could I call you? I might not see you at the reception … It would be … good … to catch up.”

Tony could almost hear the blood pressure of the funeral director rising so decided not to deflect, “Sure.  Here’s my number,” he thrust a business card at Cris, resolving that he would find it easier to give him the brush off over the phone than face to face.

NCISNCIS

Tony went into full-blown DiNozzo charm mode at the reception as he employed all the skills that Senior had taught him.  It probably helped that nobody was devastated by the loss and everyone had a story to tell of deals which, on the whole, hadn’t quite come off.  After a while, Tony found himself gravitating to the older folk who had shared his father’s retirement building and was gratified to hear that Senior had, in addition to looking out for deals for them, also performed genuine acts of kindness: it made Tony wonder if Senior would always have been a nicer person if his finances had panned out better.

With everyone chatting away happily, Tony allowed himself to drift off a little and then became aware that a piano was playing gently in the background.  He started a little as he recognised the music to _As Time Goes By_ and found himself transported back to he and his mother playing in the music room at the house in the Hamptons. 

Tony found himself drifting over to the piano to listen more closely to the tune they had loved so much. 

“That’s nice, man,” he managed as the music ended.  “Hey, it’s you!”  He looked more closely at the man from the funeral and realised that he was wearing an Adams House uniform.

“Told you I’d be here,” said Cris as he moved smoothly into another tune.

“Huh,” said Tony, remembering that he’d booked a piano player as a way of boosting the mood of the gathering.  “Well, thanks again, man.  You make good music.”

“Thanks.  And thank you for asking me here … you know, as a guest.”

“No problem.  Dad knew lots of people.  He’d have loved this,” Tony gestured at all the people eating the food and swapping stories.  He smiled a slightly watery smile.  “Hey, how did you know him?” he asked.

“You don’t remember?”

“No, afraid not.  Like I said, Dad knew lots of people.  Kinda hard to keep up.  And I wasn’t always around.”

“I guess … suppose I shouldn’t have thought you would …” Cris trailed off, “Think someone wants to talk to you.”

Tony turned in the direction of Cris’s nod and saw Gibbs waiting in the doorway.

“My Boss,” he explained, “Better go see what he wants.”  Tony looked at his phone to see if he had missed a call and was relieved to see that he hadn’t accidentally broken one of Gibbs’ rules.

“Sure.  Maybe we could catch up some time?”

Tony nodded absently; he didn’t think they had anything to catch up on and his attention was on Gibbs.

“Something up, Boss?  You need me?” he asked.

“Nope.  McGee, Bishop and Abby have gone all high-pitched and squealy over some techno-whatsit-thingy, but they don’t know what they’ve found yet, so I figured I’d leave them to it and come see how you’re doing.”

Tony nodded sympathetically as he pictured the trio’s excitement.  It was almost touching that Gibbs found it difficult to cope with them without Tony to act as leaven.  “How many CafPows has Abby had?”

Gibbs winced, “I cut her off.  And McGee and Bishop … well, I cut McGee off from the caffeine and confiscated Bishop’s sugar stash.  Was worried they’d go into orbit.”

“Ouch.”

“And then the Director joined in …”

“Need a drink?  Barman here keeps a good rough bourbon behind the bar for less discerning customers.”

Gibbs didn’t seem to feel insulted, “Lead the way,” he instructed.

It wasn’t long before Gibbs and Tony were seated at the bar with their drinks,

“Good turn out,” commented Gibbs.

“Dad knew a lot of people.”

“Hmm.  How you doing?”

Tony tried to remember the last time Gibbs had asked him so often about his well-being and thought it was probably when he was recovering from plague; he hoped he didn’t look that bad this time.

“Well, you know … not got a lot to compare it with.”  Even as he said this, Tony thought it wasn’t true: he had seen lots of bereavements, lots of distraught grieving children and he knew that _his_ bereavement, his lack of distress didn’t really measure up.  “I don’t know what I’m meant to …”

Gibbs shrugged, “Don’t think there are any right or wrong answers, DiNozzo.  Not sure what I felt when Dad died …”

Tony was fairly sure that if Jackson had been _his_ father, he would have had a more typical reaction to a parent’s death but, for someone who had lots of rules, Gibbs didn’t seem to conform to many.  Tony thought he would have reacted positively to Jackson Gibbs’ warm humanity but Gibbs … well, Tony wondered how many dreams and relationships had foundered against the iceberg of Gibbs’ grief.

“Perhaps it would have been easier if Senior and I hadn’t got sort of closer recently …”

“Yeah?  You regret that … you know, that you made up some?”

Tony smiled, “No, I guess not!  I mean, it wasn’t perfect – Senior always found a way to make it less than perfect – but I figure it would’ve been worse if we hadn’t been talking.  Even more regrets.”  The sigh was a good indicator of the number of regrets Tony was thinking of.

“Have to play the hand you’re dealt.”

“That another rule?”

“Sort of an implied one.”

“That sounds deep.”

“I can do deep,” protested Gibbs mildly.  “What?” he asked as he saw Tony’s eyes suddenly switch to the piano player.

“Oh.  What?  Nothing …”

“Didn’t look like nothing.”

“It’s stupid.  The piano guy – he just finished off with a riff that reminded me of … someone.”

Gibbs opened his mouth to ask more but, at that moment, his phone sounded to signal that a text had arrived.  He peered at it with a scowl, “Huh.  They think they’ve found something,” he announced, “I’m heading back.”

“You want me to come too?”

“Nah, stay here.”

“It’s winding up.  They won’t miss me and besides …”

“Besides what?”

“If I stay here, I’ll probably get drunk … and not in a happy way.”

Gibbs stared at Tony which was his silent way of asking if he was sure about this.  Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he nodded, “Meet you out front.”

“I’ll just tell everyone I’m heading out,” said Tony.

None of the remaining guests seemed surprised that Tony had been called back to work and they were happy to go back to their story swapping.

“I’ll call you,” said Cris with a gentle smile as Tony walked past.  “It’ll be good to catch up.”

“Ah … yeah, sure,” said Tony still in the dark about how Cris knew his father … and apparently him as well.  Part of him hoped that the promised phone call would never come and the other part was intrigued.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The two days following Senior’s funeral were somewhat tedious for Gibbs and Tony.  McGee, Bishop and Abby had continued to be absorbed in the technicalities of the current case but there was little for their co-workers to do other than nod sympathetically and make reassuring noises: alas neither of these were natural skills for Gibbs and Tony so they preferred to work on cold cases and catch up on paperwork until there was something more active for them to do.

This meant that when an unknown number showed up on Tony’s cell, he was bored enough actually to answer it,

“Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo.” 

“Hi, it’s Cris Maggio here.  You know, from the … funeral.”

“Oh, yeah.  I remember,” said Tony unenthusiastically.

“I was wondering … you know, we said about catching up … if we could fix up a time?”

Tony looked at the clock and saw that it was near enough to what other teams called lunchtime that he could take a break.  As a salve to his conscience he decided that he could do some cossetting of McGee and Bishop by taking a detour to a coffee shop.

“I’m free now,” he announced.  If Cris couldn’t make it that was too bad he decided.  He wasn’t sure why he was agreeing to meet up with a friend of his father’s anyway: it was bound to end … well, not in tears but not well.

“Great,” said Cris enthusiastically, “My shift starts in an hour.”

Tony thought that was a good omen as it meant that the meeting couldn’t last long.  “There’s a coffee shop opposite the hotel.  I’ll meet you there in 20.”

“Look forward to it.  See you.”

Tony was pleasantly surprised not to have a long drawn out goodbye or questions about the arrangements.  Cris was an easy guy to get along with.

“Hey, Boss,” he said, “I’m just going out to lunch.  OK?  Might be a bit more than an hour.”

Gibbs nodded absently. 

“I’ll bring back coffee,” added Tony.

The absent look disappeared, “Make mine a large one,” he ordered a little unnecessarily.

“On it, Boss.  And I’ll bring back something healthy for the kids.”

“What?” asked Bishop a little blearily.

“Food,” said Tony loudly and slowly, “I’ll bring back food.”

“Donuts?” asked McGee hopefully as, in his turn, he emerged from his techno haze.

Gibbs shook his head; he shared Tony’s view that healthy food might serve the whizz kids better.

“Wait and see,” advised Tony not wishing to get into an argument.

NCISNCIS

“Good to see you again,” said Cris when Tony arrived at the café.

“Yeah,” he turned to the waiter, “I’ll have a large latte to drink in.  And can I get two cheese salads, two burgers and fries, half a dozen muffins, two large black coffees, another large latte and two OJs all to go in about half an hour?”  He saw Cris’s surprised look, “Hey, not all for me!  I’m doing a food run for my team.”

“How big’s your team?”

“Three others … but they’re using up a lot of energy at the moment.”

“You’re busy then?”

“Yeah.  Look,” Tony decided to cut to the chase, “I haven’t got a whole lot of time here and I’m not sure what you wanted to meet up about …”

“I told you, I knew your Dad.”

Tony ran his fingers through his hair, “Yeah, I know.  You see, the thing is, I don’t remember you and … to be blunt, if my father owed you money … well, his lawyer’s handling all that stuff.  I can give you his address but, to be honest, there’s not a whole lot of money around.”

An odd look passed over Cris’s face, “I’m not after money.  Your father didn’t owe me anything … well, not money anyway.”

“Oh.  Well, I’m sorry if I’ve offended you …”

“You haven’t.  Really, you haven’t.  I’m not surprised you’re wary.”

“OK, so what did you want to talk to me about, if it’s not money?”

Cris looked into his coffee mug, “It would have been easier if you’d remembered me …”

“I’m sure,” said Tony impatiently, “But I don’t.”

“But I guess I’d have been surprised if you had – you were only about 4 when I last saw you.”

“What?”

“I was about 10 and you’d just had your fourth birthday.”

“You knew me when we were kids?”

“Sure did.”

“For how long?”

“I knew you from when your Mom brought you home from the hospital.”

“What?”

“That’s right, I knew you for about 4 years.”

“And your name’s Maggio?”

“Cris Maggio.”

“I don’t remember anyone with that name,” said Tony, “How did you know me?”

“My father managed the house for your parents.  Well, that’s what he called it, but Mr and Mrs DiNozzo preferred to use the word butler.”

“I remember the butler being called Langley,” said Tony, “I don’t remember a Maggio.”

“How much else do you remember from when you were 4?” asked Cris.

“Excuse me?”

“Children don’t have many memories from early childhood, they tend to start building up from around 4 …”

“You know a lot about it.”

“I did some research.”

“Why?”

“I had some happy memories of my Dad working for your parents.  I’d started doing shifts at the Adam House hotel when the booking for the wake came in.  I recognised the name and did some digging and found out that it really was the DiNozzo that I knew from all those years ago.  When I saw that you’d done the booking I thought we might be able to do some sort of reunion but then I realised how young you were when we left.  And I figured it would be better to check to see if you were likely to remember me.”

“And you realised that I might not?”

“Yes … but I decided I still wanted to go to the funeral and perhaps I’d see if I could talk to you after all.”

“Why?  Why did you want to see me?  It was all years ago.”

Cris grinned, “Happy memories, I guess.  We had some fun together …”

Tony wanted to get away: he’d been ready for Cris to try and get money out of him, but he was less prepared for swapping memories about early childhood especially when he didn’t have any to offer.

“You know,” he said, looking at his watch, “I should probably be heading back.  My Boss is a real stickler for timekeeping … this has been great …”

“And I have some photos …”

“Photos?”

“Sure.  My Dad was a keen photographer and your Mom, Mrs DiNozzo, she was interested too so they took a lot of pictures.”

“I didn’t know that.”  Tony seemed to forget that Gibbs was a martinet when it came to time as he focussed on the possibility of unseen photos from his childhood.  “Is … is my Mom in any of them?”

“Some.  And your Dad is in some.  They’re good photos.  Would you like to see them some time?”

“You haven’t got them with you?”

“Nope, sorry.  I was already on my way to work when I called you, I hadn’t brought them with me.”

“No problem.  I bounced you into meeting.”

“I could meet you tonight,” offered Cris, “I get off at 6 – I could go back to my apartment and be out again for 7.  Does that work for you?”

Tony was surprised how eager he was to see the pictures, “Yeah, that should be fine.  Here again?”

“Great,” agreed Cris.  He stood to go but then stopped, “Hey, I’ve got a photo here of the four of us – you want to see it?”

Tony nodded and took the picture Cris held out to him.  He saw an older man who looked a lot like Cris, a boy aged around 6 and … his mother holding a toddler Tony in her arms.  They were all smiling except for Tony who seemed to be half asleep.  Tony ran a gentle finger over his Mom’s face and found himself smiling.  He went to hand it back but Cris waved it away,

“Keep it.  I’ve got another one of those at home.  I’ll bring some more tonight.”

“You sure?”  Cris nodded, “Thanks, man.”

Tony wandered away, still clutching the photo.  Cris called after him, “Hey!  Tony!”

“What?” asked Tony turning back.

“You forgot the food,” grinned Cris as he pointed to the bags on the table.  “Here, I’ll give you a hand.”  He patted Tony on the shoulder, “You haven’t changed.  When you were a kid, if you got your head into something it was real hard to get your attention.”

Tony shook his head at the oddity of someone having such intimate memories of him.   As he drove back to the Navy Yard he wondered if some of the weirdness was also around Cris being simply nice to him.  His preoccupation caused a couple of hiccups on his return to the squad room when he managed to deliver a cheese salad and orange juice to Gibbs instead of burger and coffee.  Fortunately, Gibbs was more alert and a swift head slap soon righted things although Tony was unable to wrestle his own burger and latte off McGee.

Bishop came over while Tony was moodily picking at his salad and sulkily slurping his juice,

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Healthy food,” replied Tony morosely.

“No, not the food.  The picture.”

“Oh, guy I met at the funeral just gave it to me.”  He held the photo out to her.

“Is that Senior?” asked Bishop doubtfully.

“No.  It’s the father of the guy who gave it to me.  He’s the kid with the sad haircut.”

“Is that your Mom?” asked McGee who, momentarily invigorated by unhealthy food, tore himself away from techno trawling in favour of another mystery.

“Yes.”

“She was beautiful,” sighed Bishop.  “I always thought you took after your Dad, but I can see her in you.  You have her eyes.”

“Is that you?” asked McGee pointing to the grumpy looking toddler.

“Yes.”

“You were so _cute_ ,” – these words came not from Tim but from Abby who in her usual mysterious way had picked up that something interesting was happening upstairs and had made haste to investigate.

“Who are they?” asked Abby as she took possession of the photo.

“Apparently the man was my parents’ butler,” Tony looked at his co-workers defiantly as if daring them to comment, “And the kid is his son.”

“ _Apparently_?” queried Gibbs, picking up on the qualification.

“Cris says they left when I was about 4.  I don’t remember them.”

“Indeed, the whole question of childhood memories is a fascinating one and one to which I intend to direct my attention one day.”  It turned out that Ducky was also no slouch in picking up rumours about what happened in the squad room.  “No doubt, if the gentleman and his son had stayed on until you were 5 or 6 you would have memories of them.  Although I will confess that I do have an early memory of when I was but a wean … it is, of course, not a fully formed …”

“That’s so sad,” said Jimmy Palmer who had accompanied Ducky.

“How so?” asked Ducky, “I have not yet shared the nature of the memory, so you are not yet in a position to evaluate whether there is any sadness involved.”

“Oh, no, Dr Mallard.  I didn’t mean that it’s sad that you have an unformed memory, but I was just sad to think that Victoria may not remember anything of what is happening to her at the moment.  Breena and I are trying so hard to make her happy that it’s sad to think that she won’t remember any of it.”

“Dear dear, Mr Palmer, you must not unduly distress yourself about this.  I am convinced that you and dear Breena are laying the foundations for a very contented life.  You must consider them like the foundations of a house which are attended to with very great care by conscientious builders even though they will not be seen once the edifice is completed.  I must recommend to you a number of most enlightening studies in scientific journals …”

Ducky was interrupted by a sharp whistle from Gibbs, “Does DiNozzo having a photo from when he was a kid have anything to do with our case?”

He was met by a variety of humble responses, “No, Boss.  No, Gibbs.  Of course not, Jethro,” although Abby tried once more to point out the extreme cuteness of the toddler before faltering under Gibbs’ stern glare.  One by one the visitors retreated, and McGee and Bishop went back to their own desks.  Tony hurried after Abby and retrieved the photo which she had inexplicably walked off with.

“This the piano guy from the funeral?” asked Gibbs.

“How did you know that?” gasped Tony.

Gibbs looked smug, “He looks like his Dad in that picture.”  He realised that it was always a mistake to explain the brilliance of a deduction; Tony looked less impressed once he realised that it wasn’t telepathy on Gibbs’ part.

“He’s got some more pictures.  He’s going to show them to me this evening.”

Gibbs nodded.  He had a boxful of childhood and other family photos at home and he figured that McGee and Bishop probably had a similar family hoard, but he sensed that Senior had never been one for family mementoes.  Gibbs hoped that the newfound pictures would help fill a gap in Tony’s life which he might not have realised was there until his father’s death.  He knew Tony had an increasing longing for family – perhaps the photos would help assuage that yearning.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Tony found that his heart was racing a little at the prospect of seeing Cris’s photos and he was relieved to see him already sitting at a table when he arrived.

Cris had a pot of tea in front of him, he gestured towards it with a grin, “In honour of your Mom!”

“Yeah.  You know, I’ve tried to like it, but I think the Italian part of me is too strong.  I go for coffee,” replied Tony.

“Fair enough,” shrugged Cris, “More for me.”  He smiled indulgently as he saw Tony’s barely suppressed eagerness, “I didn’t expect you to be this excited.”

Tony tried to tamp down the excitement but said honestly, “I’m surprised too but I guess I don’t have that many photos of Mom … or Senior,” he added belatedly.

Cris nodded and drew out a large envelope of photos, “These are copies – the originals are in this album,” he brought out a leather-bound book, “I thought they’d be easier to see in the album ‘cos they’re in order.”

Tony wiped his hands on his pant legs and drew the book towards him and opened the front cover.  The next few minutes passed in something of a dream as he saw photos of the old house, of him and Cris playing in the grounds, riding bikes – or in toddler Tony’s case, a trike – playing in a sandpit, eating on the terrace, riding on the shoulders of Cris’s Dad and, best of all, there were pictures of Mrs DiNozzo.  Tony thought it might be because these were new photos, but they revealed to him afresh how beautiful she had been, and he thought they also showed how much she had loved him.  Tony had sometimes wondered if Senior had been an inadequate parent because _he_ had been an inadequate son and whether his Mom had _also_ been remote from him.

As an 8-year-old boy, mourning his mother’s death, Tony had thought that somehow it was his fault that she had died.  The responsible, logical adult Tony had known this could not be true but the worm at the heart of the apple of his love had persisted.  The photos showing warm embraces and loving smiles put the lie to that thought and a weight he had barely acknowledged melted away for ever.

It was clear also that Senior and his Mom had been in love: somehow the candid photos revealed that more than the formally posed wedding photos had ever done.  Tony didn’t know why it should matter but it did; knowing that his parents had loved one another somehow validated his own existence.

“Thanks, Cris,” he said as he neared the end of the book, “These are … great.”  He felt the words were inadequate and he hoped that Cris understood the sentiment behind them.

“My pleasure.  I hoped you’d like them, but I didn’t realise you didn’t have many photos.”

Tony shrugged, “Lots of step-mothers, lots of house clearances after divorces.  Stuff went missing.  And Senior didn’t like to dwell on the past.  He was all for moving on.”

Cris nodded but didn’t say anything.

Tony turned the last page and gasped: it was a photo of him, Cris and his Mom sitting on the piano stool.  Something fell into place for Tony,

“You played piano at the house?”

“M-Mrs DiNozzo taught me to play.  Taught both of us,” said Cris.

“I wondered …”

“Wondered what?” asked Cris.

“The other day, at the Adams House, when you were playing.  You played _As Time Goes By_ …”

“It’s a popular song …”

“And it was one of Mom’s favourites.  And when you finished playing … you signed off with her riff.  I’d forgotten until I heard it but that was the way she always signed off from a session.”

Cris raised his cooling cup of tea, “To Mrs DiNozzo.  A great lady and a wonderful teacher!”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Tony chinking his cup against Cris’s.

Cris sat back and let Tony leaf through the album again.  Finally, Tony looked up, “You sure I can take these?” he pointed to the envelope.

“Sure, that’s why I brought them.”

“Can I give you anything for them,” hesitated Tony, “You know, the cost of having them made …” he trailed off, hoping he hadn’t offended Cris.

The easy-going Cris understood the dilemma, “Wouldn’t hear of it.  Besides, I figure I owe your Mom something for all those free lessons!”

Tony directed a Gibbs-like stare at Cris to try and establish whether or not he was sincere and, satisfied that he was, tried to think of a way of showing his gratitude.

“Hey,” he said, “You know, I have Mom’s piano …”

Cris was shaken out of his usual calm, “W-w-what?  You have her piano?”

“Yep.  Took a while to track it down once I could afford it … but I’ve had it since I moved into my apartment.  Do you want to come and play it some time?”

“Would I?  Damn straight I would!  When?”

It was Tony’s turn to smile, “One evening … what shifts are you working?”

“I usually do till about 8 – I’m the background music for cocktails.  They move to dance music after that.”

“OK, How about Friday?  I’ll order in some pizza … I’m guessing with a name like Maggio you like Italian?”

“Don’t have to be Italian to like pizza,” said Cris, “But hey, I’m not a bad cook but I’ve only got a tiny kitchen at my apartment.  Could I cook, do you think?”

“I never turn down an offer of homecooked food!  Unless it’s from Senior … he is – was – a messy cook.  Nearly burned the kitchen down once.”

“I promise not to destroy your kitchen,” said Cris solemnly, “And I’ll even wash up … so long as you’ve got a dishwasher!”

Tony laughed, “Sounds good to me.  But hey, with my job, I always have to enter a caveat.  I’ll be there _BW_.”

“BW?”

“Boss willing!  I might get called into work.”

“You mean all that food you took back the other day hasn’t helped them solve the case?”

“Not yet.  It’s a sticky one.”

NCISNCIS

Fortunately for Tony, there was no need to invoke the BW hope.  The next day he had a moment of insight around all the data McGee and Bishop had been collecting, Gibbs then had a confirmatory insight of his own and the case was solved with everyone happy to feel they had played their part.

“Huh,” said Cris when he arrived, “Your Boss was willing after all?  I kept expecting to get a call.”

“Case closed,” said Tony cheerfully, “We now have days of paperwork to look forward to.”  He saw Cris scanning the apartment until he saw the baby grand piano.  Tony waved towards it in invitation, “Help yourself.  I’ll get some drinks.  What do you want?  Tea or something stronger?”

Cris absentmindedly requested beer and went to sit at the piano.  He laughed.

“What?” asked Tony.

“Makes me feel a giant!  Last time I sat here my feet didn’t touch the ground.”

Tony smiled, he remembered a similar feeling when he had been able to purchase the instrument and had sat at it for the first time.  Cris touched the keys gently and began to play; he was soon lost in the music and Tony ended up going into the kitchen to start cooking.  An hour later, Cris jumped when Tony gently nudged him,

“Dinner’s up.”

“What?  I was meant to be cooking!”

“Next time,” said Tony, “I didn’t want to interrupt you.  And it sounded good.”

Cris looked bashful, “Man, I’m sorry.  Didn’t mean to crash your place and take over.”

“No worries.  Like I said before, you make good music … and I could hear Mom in you playing.  I’d forgotten what she sounded like.”

Cris looked both pleased and wistful, he stroked the keys gently and then lowered the lid, “You said something about food?”

The rest of the evening passed quietly.  Cris told stories of their joint childhood while Tony told him what had happened to the DiNozzos after the Maggios had left.

“Hey,” said Tony as they drank the last of the beer, “Was there something about a sandpit?”

Cris flushed red, “Excuse me?”

“A sandpit.  I was lying in bed this morning and this … memory came back to me.  I don’t know what was happening, but I was covered in sand and I think you were there.”

“Thought you didn’t remember me,” said Cris.

“I didn’t … and I’m not sure I do now.  It’s just the sand pit popped into my head.  Am I wrong?”

Cris winced, “if you were going to remember something, I wish it wasn’t that,” he admitted.

Tony sensed a mystery and straightened up in anticipation, “Go on, spill!”

“We were playing a game.  We’d all been watching a movie – British prisoners-of-war escaping by digging a tunnel under a wooden vaulting horse …”

“ _The Wooden Horse_ , 1950, directed by Jack Lee and starring David Tomlinson and Anthony Steel,” interrupted Tony.

Cris looked at him oddly, “Yeah … well, if you say so.  Anyway, they did a lot of digging and we – or me – got excited about it.  So, when we went outside afterwards, I decided we were going to dig an escape tunnel in the sandpit.  And – it didn’t go well.”

“What happened?”

“I didn’t realise that escape tunnels had to be shored up so ours kinda collapsed when you were in it.  I still think it was because you were wriggling too much … you didn’t get the concept of stealth.”

“And how old was I?” protested Tony.

“Three … maybe three and a half,” conceded Cris.

Tony roared with laughter.

“Mrs DiNozzo was mad,” remembered Cris, “She’d got you dressed in a sailor suit to go out to a birthday party and you were filthy when we pulled you out.”

Tony carried on laughing.

“And we’d only dug down about a foot,” said Cris trying to excuse himself, “You weren’t in any danger.  And you didn’t cry … not that you did cry much.”

Tony finally managed to stop laughing, “Hey, if it meant I got out of wearing a sailor suit I probably made sure the tunnel collapsed on me!”

Cris left shortly afterwards still protesting at Tony’s perversity in only remembering an episode involving Cris when things had gone wrong.  Tony felt oddly relieved at having remembered something, it made everything seem more real.  They arranged to meet a few days later and Cris promised that this time he really would cook.

Tony waved him goodbye with a sense of real contentment at having made a new friend with whom he had much in common.

NCISNCIS

“DiNozzo?  What you doing here?” asked Gibbs the next morning when Tony walked into his kitchen.

“Nothing.”

Gibbs peered at him, “What’s got you so jazzed?”

“Jazzed?” asked Tony innocently.

For answer, Gibbs simply deployed a glare; probably not his strongest or most deadly but perfectly judged for the occasion.  As anticipated, Tony quickly caved,

“Couldn’t sleep,” he confessed.

“Yeah?” Gibbs thought back to Tony’s arrangements for the previous night, “Something go wrong last night?”

“No!  No, it was … great.”

“So?”

“I told you about the photos, didn’t I?”  Gibbs grinned but didn’t answer, Tony hadn’t shown him the pictures but had been very excited about them.  “And it turned out that my Mom taught Cris how to play piano,” Gibbs nodded again, Tony had told him this as well.  “So, last night he came to play it and we just talked and talked.”

“Yeah?”

“This will sound stupid …”

“Maybe.”

“And perhaps it _is_ stupid.”

“Perhaps.”

“But …”

“Spit it out, DiNozzo.  We can’t help how we feel, you know.  Things are what they are.”

“Well, it feels almost like having a brother … I don’t still know anyone from back when I was a kid.  And Senior didn’t talk much about those times anyway.  Meeting Cris is like finding a whole new part of me.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid, DiNozzo.  Family’s important and I figure it doesn’t matter much how we find family.  Comes in all shapes and sizes.”

“And Cris remembers my Mom too and he doesn’t mind talking about her.  Senior never wanted to – think it made him feel bad but I would’ve liked to know about her …”

“Then don’t feel bad about Cris,” said Gibbs with a pat on the shoulder.

“I guess,” said Tony, “You don’t think it’s well … childish?”

“Family’s family.  I’d say go for it.  If it’s helping you, then what’s the downside?”

Tony’s face cleared, “Thanks, Boss.  And you’re right, doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.”

Gibbs took a sip of his coffee, “Hey, is that your photo album there?”  He nodded at the large book under Tony’s arm.

“You want to see?” asked Tony eagerly.

Looking through family albums was not Gibbs’ favourite pastime but he was in the mood for indulging Tony, so he nodded and allowed himself to be talked through the dozens of photos Tony had put in his new album and even found himself promising to make a frame for the picture of Cris, Tony and Mrs DiNozzo sitting at the piano.

NCISNCIS

“Why did you and your Dad leave the house?” asked Tony a few days later as they finished eating the meal finally cooked by Cris.

“Excuse me?”

“Why did your Dad leave?  Did he get another job?  It looked as if everyone was getting on well.”

Cris busied himself tidying the plates away, “I don’t know.  I guess.  I mean, we moved to Pennsylvania.  Dad got a job at a country club so I figure he must have decided he wanted a change.”

Tony nodded, the concept of being moved on by a parent was familiar to him so he wasn’t surprised that Cris didn’t know the exact reason.

“You want another drink?” asked Cris as he flourished the wine bottle.

“Sure.  I haven’t got work tomorrow so it’s not a school night.”

Unusually, neither Cris nor Tony were at work the next day so they had decided to drink wine rather than beer.

“How old was I when Mom started teaching me piano?” asked Tony.

Cris frowned as he thought back, “Not sure, probably about 2 or 2 and a half.  Just sitting on her lap and hitting the keys really but she said it had worked with me.”

“She taught you right from the start?”

“Yes.”

“Just how long were you at the house before I came along?”

“Dad and I were there when they got married.”

“And where was _your_ Mom?” Tony felt a little guilty that they had only talked about the DiNozzos rather than Cris’s own family.

“Uh, she was never around.  It was just me and my Dad.”

“I’m sorry.”

Cris shrugged, “That’s the way it was.”

“I can tell that Mom cared for you,” offered Tony in consolation.

“She was a nice lady,” agreed Cris keeping his eyes on the table.

“What about Senior?  Did you get on with him all right?”

Cris momentarily lifted his gaze to Tony, “He liked his own way,” he said eventually, “Life in the house pretty much revolved around him.”

“Sounds like Senior.  But he was OK with you?”

“Sure.  He was fine.”  Cris took another big swallow of wine.

“Senior … well, Senior needed to charm people,” said Tony, “And I guess if he didn’t think someone was going to be of use to him, well, he didn’t waste the charm.”

“It was fine,” repeated Cris.

“I’ve only just realised,” said Tony, “That you spell your name without a H.  Your name is on some of the photos,” he explained.

“Does it matter?”

“What?  No, of course not.  It’s just that I’d sort of assumed – and don’t tell Gibbs, because he’s got a rule about assumptions – that your full name was Christopher.”

“No, not Christopher.  It’s short for … something else.”

Tony wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but the mood of the evening seemed to have darkened.  Cris – not short for Christopher – seemed jumpy and uncertain.  He tried to think of a way to get things back to their normal friendliness.

“You know, Cris, I’m really glad that we met up again – even if I don’t remember anything …”

“Apart from me burying you!” joked Cris in his own attempt to lighten things.

“Apart from you burying me – which I totally don’t hold against you by the way!  Talking to you about the old days … when Mom was alive … it’s really helped me.”

“I’m glad.”

“You know I didn’t have much family.  I kinda always wished I’d had a brother or sister … and somehow, with you … knowing that we grew up together for a while … it almost feels like I have now.”

Cris jerked his wine glass and the contents spilled on to the table.

“Cris?  Something wrong?” asked Tony in concern.

Cris drained the rest of his wine and then stood up abruptly, “I should go.  Things to do tomorrow, you know.”

“Sure.  You OK?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You still on for squash tomorrow?”

“Um, yeah.  Looking forward to it.  Hey, sorry to rush off.  You know how it is.”

“No problemo.  Get ready to get your ass kicked tomorrow!”

“What?”

“I’m pretty damn good on the squash court.”

“Oh, yeah.  Squash.  Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Cris collected his jacket and phone in a haphazard way and scurried out of the apartment leaving Tony to wonder what had just happened.

Two hours later, just as Tony was beginning to think about going to bed, his phone rang.

“Tony?”

“Yes.  Cris?”

“Yes.  Um, look I know it’s late but I need to talk to you.”

“Now?”

“Yes, it’s important.  Please?”

“Sure.  Come on up.”  Part of Tony wished he hadn’t answered his cell, but he trusted Cris when he said it was important.

A few minutes later, Cris was sitting on Tony’s couch.  To Tony’s relief he was composed if a little pale.

“This is difficult,” began Cris.

“OK.”

“You asked why my Dad took us away from the house in the Hamptons.”

“Yes.”  Tony wanted to say that he wasn’t so interested in the answer that Cris needed to have come back but he decided not to say so.

“Your Dad asked us to leave.”

“What?  He fired your Dad?”

“Technically no, he asked Dad to go but it was obvious that he’d have fired him if he’d refused.  Dad agreed, that way it would look better for any reference.”

“I see … well, I don’t see.  Why was he fired?”

“Not because of anything he did,” protested Cris.

Tony sighed, “It might have been that Senior needed to economise.  He used to run out of money sometimes and, you know, things used to _disappear_ for a while.  I’m sorry though, it must have been tough for your Dad.”

“It wasn’t anything like that.  Although I think Mr DiNozzo always had an eye on money.  Or was looking to the future.”

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m sorry.  Although you might have been better off out of it – it was probably always going to happen at some point.  It took me a long time to figure out that Dad had money problems but, looking back, I think they were always there.”

Cris didn’t acknowledge Tony’s words but simply gazed at some more pictures waiting to be put in Tony’s album.  Tony watched on, sensing that this wasn’t the time for talking.  After a few minutes of silence, Cris gripped his hands together and took a deep breath as he seemed to come to a decision,

“I never meant to tell you this,” he said jerkily.

“Tell me what?” asked Tony as gently as his impatience would allow.

“I know you don’t remember anything but they’re _good_ memories, you know.”

“I know,” said Tony soothingly, “I told you.”

“And you said that I was like a brother to you.”

“Yes, I did.  And I meant it.”

“That’s why Mr DiNozzo sent me – sent us – away.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re my brother.  I’m your brother,” said Cris, “That’s why I got sent away.  I’m sorry, Tony.”

Tony had always thought he was fairly unshockable but he now found that to be untrue.  In his turn, he stared at the photo album trying to come to terms with this new version of family.

 


	4. Chapter 4

_“You’re my brother.  I’m your brother,” said Cris, “That’s why I got sent away.  I’m sorry, Tony.”_

“I-I guess Senior did it for Mom,” Tony managed eventually, “Didn’t want her to know.”

“What?” asked Cris, “Did what for Mom?”

“Sent you away somewhere.  And Cris, I’m really sorry about that.  I guess he decided that Mom shouldn’t know … and he might have … I don’t know, been wary about upsetting Mom’s family.  They wouldn’t have been pleased to know about … well, you know.” 

As Tony absorbed Cris’s shocking revelation he realised that although he was shocked, he was also at the same time not completely surprised: the idea that Senior might have fathered more than one child had always been lurking at the back of his mind.  The notion of Senior being willing effectively to abandon a child was not altogether foreign either.

“At least tell me that Senior paid something towards child support,” he asked.

Cris looked puzzled, “No, why would he do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Some people might think it was the right thing to do, you know – step up to look after your kid.”

“Tony,” said Cris slowly, “Did you think I meant that Mr DiNozzo was my father?”

“Well, sure.  You mean … did you mean that … your Dad was _my_ father too?”  Tony fell silent as he imagined this tangle of circumstances.

“No,” said Cris gently, “Remember I said that Cris wasn’t short for Christopher?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s short for Crispian.”

“Oh. I have a cousin called Crispian, that’s a coincidence,” said Tony absently.

“Yes, Mrs DiNozzo told me that Crispian is a Paddington family name.”

“Yeah and I have to say I think I like you better than I like my cousin.”

“Glad to hear it.  Tony, we don’t share the same father.  We have the same mother.”

“What!”

“Elizabeth Paddington – your Mom – met my father when she was a student.  She got pregnant.  Her family refused to have anything to do with her if she insisted on keeping the baby with her.”

“I don’t understand,” said Tony trying to listen and absorb what Cris was saying.

“She gave birth to me.  She told her family that she’d given me up for adoption but really my Dad had me.  They didn’t stay together.  Mom went back to studying music and then she met your Dad.  They decided to get married and she had the idea of getting Dad to be their butler so she could be with me.”

“And Senior went along with all this?”

“I’m not sure how much he knew … or when he knew … but I figure he must have done.  You saw the photos: they were in love and I reckon that he knew having me near made her happy, so he was happy too.  I guess it might have changed when you came along.”

“And you’re saying that he stopped being happy about it?  You said that he told your Dad to leave.”

“Dad told me afterwards … a long time afterwards, that Mom’s Dad – our grandfather – was coming for a visit.”  Tony hid a wince at the term _our grandfather_.  “He thought that Mr DiNozzo was worried that it would come out that I was her son.  Your Dad always wanted to keep on the right side of her British relations, he knew about the trust fund and he didn’t want to risk that.”

“And what happened after you left?  How did Mom keep in touch with you?”

“She didn’t.  We never heard from her again.  I think perhaps your Dad persuaded her not to reach out to us, told her that it was simpler that way.  She cried when we said goodbye – that’s my last memory of her.”  Cris wiped his eyes, “And then a few years later we saw in the New York Times that she’d passed away and I knew I’d lost her forever.”

Tony shook his head as he tried to come to terms with all these revelations,

“Mom never said anything,” he said wonderingly.

“You were just a kid,” Cris pointed out, “She may have meant to say something when you were older but she never had a chance.  If she had, then I guess we might have connected years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” said Tony, “I’m struggling to take all this in.”

“I know.  I’m sorry too.  I wouldn’t have said anything but when you said how you felt I was like your brother – well, it seemed _meant_.”

“And that’s why you’re called Crispian?” said Tony trying to puzzle one thing out.

“Yes, she wanted to give me the family name even if she couldn’t acknowledge me openly.”

“I see,” said Tony who really didn’t see at all.  “You know, I don’t think I’d have been so shocked if you’d told me that Senior was your father – almost feels like something he’d do.  But Mom!”

“She was young,” said Cris excusingly.

“I’m not blaming her,” said Tony hastily, “It’s just a lot to come to take in.”  He shook his head, he felt as if he was saying the same things over and over again, but no words actually expressed his confusion and the sense that his world was shaking.

“I should go,” said Cris, “You need time to think about this.  And don’t worry, I don’t expect anything to change between us – I just felt it was right that you knew.”

“And you’re sure?  I mean, that Mom was your Mom too?”

“I’m not _joking_ ,” said Cris with a hint of irritation.

“No.  No, I didn’t think you were.  I guess I’m still in shock.”

“I know,” said Cris more gently, “Yes, I’m sure.  I even had a DNA test done a while back.”

“DNA test?  How?  I mean, how did you get Mom’s DNA?”  Tony’s detective instincts kicked in.

“When we left the house, she gave me a locket.  It had a lock of her hair in it and one of your first baby curls.  She said I should keep it as a reminder that we’d all be together one day.”

Tony nodded helplessly.

“I can show you the results if you want,” said Cris.

Tony shook his head, “Not now.  I need to think about all this.”

“Sure, I understand.  But I hope, when you’ve thought it through, that you’ll be happy.”  Cris stood up to go, he hesitated and then patted Tony awkwardly on the shoulder, “Will I still see you tomorrow?”

“What?”

“Squash.  You wanted to hand me my ass.”

“Oh, yeah … sure.”

In some ways, squash was the last thing Tony wanted to do but the thought of taking his pent-up emotion out on an innocent ball was appealing.

NCISNCIS

Tony didn’t sleep well that night and was almost grateful that he and Cris had arranged an early morning match which gave him an excuse to get up from his rumpled bed.

Cris turned out to be a good player and, in other circumstances, Tony would have enjoyed a game with a well-matched opponent, but these circumstances were as _other_ as Tony could have ever imagined.  The game was evenly balanced when Tony suddenly flung his racket to the ground,

“Hey,” said Cris, “No need to lose your temper because I won that point!”

Tony gazed at him, “This is crazy.”

“What?  If you don’t like the rules you should complain to the people who wrote them!”

Tony managed a grin, “You know what’s crazy.”

Cris managed a grin of his own, “Yeah, I guess this wasn’t the best way to reconnect after last night.”

“You think?  Come on, let’s get some breakfast.”

A few minutes later, with coffee and bagels in front of them, Tony said, “So what happens next?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, after what you told me last night.”

“Yeah?”

“I haven’t got any experience of having a brother …”

“You believe me then?”

Tony shrugged, “I’m working on it.”

“What does that mean?”

“What I said.”

“You want me to show you the DNA results?”

“Maybe.  Not yet.  I’m still trying to get my head around Mom having another kid and not doing anything about it.”

“I …”

Tony held up a hand to silence Cris, “I’m not blaming her … it’s just trying to fit her doing something like that in with everything else I thought I knew about her.”

“So, what do you want to do?”

“Carry on thinking about it.  And carry on getting to know you – if that’s what you want.”

Cris smiled, “Of course it’s what I want.  That’s why I took the risk of telling you.  And anyway, I thought it was right that you should know.  I tried to think how you would feel if you found out some other way – how betrayed you’d feel.”

“I guess.”

“So, what does _thinking about it_ mean?”

“Carry on getting to know one another,” said Tony, “I mean, I’ve got a pretty crazy schedule, but I think we should meet up sometimes.  How does that sound?”

“Sounds good to me.  Although, I should warn you …”

“Warn me about what?”

“I won’t let you walk off a squash court again when you’re losing!”

“I wasn’t losing!”

“Yeah, you stick to that story.  Baby brother!”

Tony continued to protest he had been about to win but was conscious of a warm feeling at being called _baby brother._

NCISNCIS

A couple of months passed with Cris and Tony continuing to meet up: sometimes Tony would drop in to the Adams House Hotel to listen to Cris play, sometimes Cris would go to Tony’s apartment and they would cook or order in takeout and sometimes they played squash and found, when they managed to complete a game, that they were evenly matched.

Tony didn’t share the information about Cris’s revelation with his co-workers, but they knew that he was still in touch with him and that he seemed to have struck up a good friendship.  He caught Gibbs looking at him askance sometimes and knew that his Boss was a little surprised that, after the excitement of the photos, Tony hadn’t shared anything else with him.

Cris arrived at Tony’s apartment one evening to watch a football game – and to disagree on which team to support.  As Tony opened the door, Cris said,

“Hey bro!  Hope you’re ready to see your team well and truly … what the hell?”  He gazed at Tony in shock.

“Oh, yeah,” said Tony nonchalantly, “Witness got a bit uppity today.”

“ _Uppity_?  What do you call it when they get mad?” asked Cris reaching out a hand to touch the bruises on Tony’s face.

“It looks worse than it is.”

“I’m glad to hear it ‘cos it looks pretty bad to me.  You been to hospital about it?”

Tony laughed a genuine laugh, “Hospital?  For this?  Nah, I’m fine.  Ducky looked at it for me.”

“Ducky?  Your dead person doctor?”

“Sure.”

“You know it sounds like something out of a cheap horror movie that your doctor is a mortician.”

“Medical examiner,” corrected Tony, “A mortician is something else entirely.”

“I bow to your superior knowledge,” said Cris sarcastically.

“Really,” said Tony, “Ducky’s a real doctor – he often patches us up.  And it’s quicker than going to the Emergency Room.”

“You sure you’re OK?”

“I’m fine … well, clearly I’m not fine at the moment but I will be.  No concussion, no fractures … just need to wait until the bruising comes out …”

“You mean there’s more to come?” asked Cris in horror.

Tony recognised a misstep, “No, probably not.”

“You taken any painkillers?”

“Yep, Ducky provided some non-loopy medicine.”

“Non-loopy?  What does that mean?”

“Story for another time.  Possibly.  Hey, you ready to order in food?”

Cris was obviously still worried about Tony’s condition but decided to go along with him for the moment, “Sure.  And because you’re in a weak and feeble condition, I’ll let you order Chinese.”

“Yes!” Tony did a fist pump and then winced, “Ow, must remember not to do that.”

“It hurt?”

“Yeah, some.  I got a few punches of my own in but my hand’s a bit sore,” Tony admitted.

“In that case,” said Cris decisively, “We’re not having Chinese.  You’re bad enough with the chopsticks when you’re fit.  I can’t imagine how bad you’d be when your hands are impaired.”

“I could use a fork,” suggested Tony.

Cris was outraged, “I’m not letting a brother of mine eat Chinese food with a fork!  It’s a cultural crime.”

“But …”

“And you’re in law enforcement!  I can’t believe you’d condone a crime.”

Tony gave in easily enough, “OK.  Then order pizza, I only need one hand for that.”

Cris made Tony sit down on the couch while he ordered in the food and then he brought a glass of water over,

“When did you last take your painkillers?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Three hours ago.”

“And when are you due again?”

“I guess when the food arrives would be a good time,” said Tony a little sulkily.

“I think so too,” said Cris firmly.

An hour or so later, with the football game halfway through, Cris’s phone rang,

“Maggio … yes … really … I’m not sure … yeah, I’m trying … when do you need to know … OK … yeah, I’ll let you know … ciao.”  He ended the call and said, “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” replied Tony, “Or is it a problem?” he added as he saw a look of concern on Cris’s face.

“No, not really.”

“You want to try that one again?”

“It’s just … well, I’ve got the chance of buying the apartment I’m living in …”

“The one with the tiny kitchen?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would you want to buy it?”

“It’s a first step on the ladder.  A late one, I admit but up until now I’ve never really worried about settling down anywhere.  I’ve been happy to live where the work is but now …”

“Yes?”

“I guess now I’d like to stay in DC – feels more like home now,” he smiled a little shyly at Tony.

“What’s the problem then?”

“Money,” said Cris simply.

“How much do you need?”

“I don’t want your money,” protested Cris, “I never meant to tell you about this.  I can find somewhere else to rent if the new owners want me out.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.  I was wondering about something though …”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a bit awkward …”

“Go on.”

“Mom told my Dad about a Paddington trust.”

“Hmm, you mentioned that before.”

“She said her father had set it up to benefit all his grandchildren after he died.”

“Grandpa Paddington is still alive,” Tony pointed out.

“I know.  But I was wondering …”

“What?”

“I’m his grandson.  Do you think he’d include me in the trust?”

“I don’t …”

“It’s kinda unfair that I’m not included – I mean it’s not my fault that Mom and Dad weren’t married.”

“I don’t know, Cris.  I don’t know if _I’m_ included.  Mom’s British relatives didn’t really approve of Senior … and when Great Uncle Clive died, he didn’t leave me anything.  Which doesn’t matter but it might mean that the Paddingtons have forgotten about Mom’s family.”

“I guess … it’s probably a long shot but … well, I’d really like to get that apartment.”

“He’s not dead yet, you know.  There won’t be any cash on the table.”

“I know, but people – financiers – they take prospects into account.  I could get a loan more easily if they knew I had prospects like that.”

“Hmm.”

“Aren’t you interested?”

“What?”

“Well, to know if you’re in the trust at all?”

Tony shrugged, “Not really.  I mean, it would be nice but as far as families go, I’ve learned not to expect much.”

“I could contact them,” said Cris thoughtfully, “You know, perhaps make them remember.  Hey, it would remind them about you as well.”

Tony could see that the game was about to resume, “I’ve got the address of the family solicitor somewhere – from when Great Uncle Clive died.  I’ll give it to you … after the game.”

Cris smiled at Tony, “Give it to me now.”

“What?  Why?”

“Because I know you, you’re about to fall asleep, baby bro!”

Tony got up grumbling and retrieved the details from his bureau, “Bully!” he muttered.  He settled back down on the couch thinking that it was a nice change to have someone looking out for him after an injury.

NCISNCIS

A few days later, Tony met up with Cris at the Adams House Hotel.  Cris was excited,

“Mr Hubbard is a nice guy!”

“Who?  Oh, the lawyer guy.  You got in touch then?”

“Yes.  He seems hopeful.  He told me that there is a trust for the grandchildren and that he thinks, so long as I can prove that Mom was my Mom, that he can get me included.  He said that a few years ago it would have been out of the question, “ _I have to tell you, Mr Maggio_ ,” Cris adopted a posh British accent, “ _That it would have been impossible for a child born out of wedlock to have been included but time has moved on and social mores have changed and there is a more liberal attitude to such things.  Indeed, Mr Maggio, it has been imperative that attitudes have changed as, otherwise, there would be very few people eligible to inherit!_   And then he gave this sort of dry chuckle as if he’d made the biggest joke in legal history!”

“Sounds good,” said Tony, “What do you do next?”

Cris produced some papers from an inside pocket, “I’m sending the DNA test,” he showed it to Tony, “And a sample of my DNA – can’t expect them to accept this one, can I?  And I’ve got some documents from Dad – letters and stuff which support what I’m saying.  Mr Hubbard says he’ll get right on it.  I can’t believe it.  So much has changed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, I don’t think I’d have done any of this if I hadn’t been at the funeral.  That sort of reminded me about all this … stuff.  And meeting up with you again, made me feel like a Paddington again.”

“Good.  Can’t say I’ve ever felt much like a Paddington,” said Tony, “Perhaps I would have if Mom had lived longer, she might have reached out to them more.”

“And it means I might be able to get the apartment after all.”

“Might?”

“Depends on the timing.  The bank will give me a loan once Mr Hubbard confirms I’m in the trust.  But the landlord wants a decision from me by the end of the week … still, if I don’t get this one, I’ll be able to afford something else.”

“With a bigger kitchen,” suggested Tony.

“Nothing wrong with a small kitchen,” said Cris, “Especially when one’s baby brother has a big kitchen he only uses to heat things up.”

“You really want this apartment?”

“It’s a nice place.  Convenient for work, near the park, near to your place.  It’s got a lot going for it.  And, after all those years of moving around, I don’t feel like moving anymore.”

“How much do you need?”

“What?”

“You know, to get the place.”

“I don’t want your money …”

“How much?”

“I can get the place for 200 grand.  I need to put 100 grand down.”

“I could manage that,” said Tony.

“That’s ridiculous.  I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.”

“It would just be a loan,” said Cris.

“Damn straight it would be a loan,” laughed Tony, “I can’t afford to give it to you.”

“No,” said Cris, shaking his head, “I can’t let you do it.”

“Yes, you can,” said Tony firmly, “When do you need it by?”

“Are you sure?”  Tony nodded, “Then I’ll tell the landlord today that I’ll be buying the place.  It should go through quickly … by the end of the week, I guess.”

“Give me your bank details.  I’ll put the money in.”

“This still seems mad,” said Cris, “I’ll go on-line and draw up an agreement – you know, to repay the money.  And I’ll pay interest.  What will you be losing by lending me the money?”

“We’ll work it out,” said Tony, “Hey, I have to go.  We caught a case yesterday and it’s hotting up.  I might not see you for a few days if we don’t crack it …”

“That’s OK,” shrugged Cris, “I’m used to you going off grid for days when your Boss cracks the whip.  You just take care of yourself, Bro.”

“Always,” smiled Tony.

“Make sure you do.  I’ve only just found you.  I can’t afford to lose you already.”

“I know.  And you take care of yourself too.”

“Says the man with the dangerous job,” retorted Cris, “I’ll be fine so long as nobody takes a dislike to my music!”

“I guess,” said Tony, “Send me the bank details and I’ll let you know when I’m transferring the money.  See you!”  He gave Cris a quick hug and pat on the back before hurrying away.

NCISNCIS

Two weeks later, Cris was playing piano when he saw a familiar figure leaning against the bar.  He finished the piece he was playing and went to join him,

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world …”

“You played it wrong.”

Cris looked back at the piano and frowned, “I don’t think so … What are you doing here, Tony?”

“I thought it was time to talk.”

“I guess you’re surprised that I’m here?”

Tony smiled, “Not really.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I like you, Cris.  I really do.”

“And I like you, Tony … my baby brother.”

“What are you doing here, Cris?”

“A friend of mine offered me a share in this bar.  Seemed too good an offer to turn down.”

“So, you used the money for the apartment to buy into this?”

“That’s right. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“ _Sam’s Place_ in Casablanca – long way to come.  I thought you were tired of being on the move?”

Cris shrugged, “What can I say?  The feet started itching again.  You must know what it’s like, didn’t you tell me that you moved on every two years?”

“Not for a long time,” said Tony, “I found somewhere I wanted to be … where I was needed … and I stayed.”

“That’s all right for you.”

“And it could’ve been for you as well,” said Tony gently.

“Why are you here, Tony?”

“I went to see Lilly.”

“Lilly?”

“You remember Lilly, Cris.  Your memory about the old days was always better than mine.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

FLASHBACK

Gibbs finished his coffee and tried to decide what to do with a rare Saturday off but at that moment Tony walked in with a bunch of flowers,

“Been a long time since someone brought me flowers, DiNozzo.”

“Boss, you remember when Delilah was in the hospital?”

Gibbs had learned not to be puzzled by the way DiNozzo’s mind worked, “Yeah.”

“Would you do the same for me?”

“Who’s in the hospital?”

“Nobody.”

“DiNozzo, I’ve only had one coffee this morning.  Too early for riddles.  What’s going on?”

“You sat with McGee.  I need you to sit with me.”

“OK, take a seat.”

“Not here.  I need you to sit with me while I go see someone.”

Gibbs was at his best in a crisis: he wasn’t sure this qualified, but it was near enough, “Sure,” he said simply.

“Oh, and could you drive?  I’m a bit …”

“And you think me driving will calm you down?” asked Gibbs quizzically.

Tony smiled weakly and Gibbs upped his estimate of the scale of the crisis by a notch or two.

“Come on then.  Where we going?”

DiNozzo directed them to a pleasant street in Fairfax where they parked outside a townhouse.  The door opened as they walked up the path,

“Tony,” said a young woman, “It’s good to see you again.  Come in.”

“Hi, Lois.  This is my Boss, Jethro Gibbs.  Boss, this is Lois Canning.”

“Auntie Lilly is in the sunroom.  Go on through, I’ll bring you some coffee.”

Gibbs nodded and followed Tony towards the back of the house.  An elderly woman was sitting in a recliner in the sunroom; she opened her arms in welcome when she saw Tony.

Tony hastened over to her and accepted an embrace and a kiss before giving her the flowers.

“Oh, lovey,” she said, “You’re such a good boy!”  She turned to Gibbs, “He always remembers I can’t stand lilies!” and she laughed cheerfully.

“Lilly, this is my Boss, Special Agent Jethro Gibbs,” said Tony.

“Oh, I’ve heard all about _you_ , Agent Gibbs!  Still, I guess your Mom would be proud of you.”

Gibbs nodded, uncertain whether or not this was a compliment.  He wondered what Tony had said about him.

“Boss, this is Lilly Markham.  Lilly used to be my nanny.”

“Ma’am,” said Gibbs politely before taking a seat.

“Oh, Anthony, I was sorry to hear about your father,” said Lilly, she gripped his hand tightly.

“I know, Lilly.  Thank you.”

“He tried his best, you know,” said Lilly trying to find words of comfort.

“Well, he was certainly trying,” joked Tony.

“Anthony!” said Lilly in mock horror, “What a thing to say about your father.  Although, you’re absolutely right!  Now let me tell you …”

Tony allowed Lilly to tell him all her gossip while drinking the coffee supplied by Lois.  After fifteen minutes or so, Lilly looked at him shrewdly, “And what’s happening with you, Anthony?”

“Lilly?” asked Tony innocently.

She batted him playfully on the hand, “Lovey, I know you too well!  There’s something on your mind.  Why don’t you tell me what it is?  You know you want to.”

Tony smiled at her fondly, “You’re right, you always could see right through me!  Lilly, do you remember Cris Maggio?”

Lilly closed her eyes for a moment or two, “The name sounds familiar … but I can’t place it.”

“His father was the butler …”

Lilly’s eyes twinkled, “He preferred to be called the house manager!  I remember now, yes.  He was a nice man – Paul, I think his name was, not Cris.”

“Cris was the son,” said Tony gently.

“Oh, of course, that’s what you said!  Silly me.  Yes, I remember them.  What made you think of them?”

“I met Cris at Dad’s funeral.  And then at the wake, he was playing piano.”

“Oh yes, I remember him being musical.  Your mother taught him … taught you both … to play.”

“I didn’t remember him.”

“Well no, I suppose you wouldn’t, lovey.  Paul left the house when you were about … let me see, about 4.”

“That’s what he said.  Did we get on well?”

“Oh, I think so.  You might have liked him more than he liked you.”

“How so?”

“Well, lovey, he was six years older than you, so he didn’t always want you trailing around after him.  But he was a nice enough boy and he was kind to you.  I think he quite liked being your hero.”

“And Mom was nice to him?”

Lilly’s eyes softened at the memory, “Your Mom was nice to everyone, Anthony.  She had a real way with her.  She was gentle with him, very patient teaching him to play piano.”

“What happened?  Why did they leave?”

Lilly frowned as she tried to remember, “I think your father asked them to leave.  They went to a country house hotel somewhere, I think Mr DiNozzo got Paul the job.”

“Why did he ask them to go?”

Lilly frowned again as she puzzled why Tony was interested in this old story, “Well, the mistress was expecting her father to visit … and I think the master was worried about Christopher being there …”

“Cris,” corrected Tony softly.

“Oh.  Anyway, I think that’s why he thought it was better that they left.”

“But why was it better?”

“The little boy … as I said, he was a nice enough little chap, but he kept on calling the mistress _Mommy_.  We tried to stop him, but he’d decided she was his Mom.”

“And Senior was worried about that?”

“I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but Mr DiNozzo was always anxious about keeping on the right side of the Paddingtons.  He thought that Mr Paddington would get the wrong idea if there was another child running around calling the mistress his mother,” she sniffed, “But I think there might have been another reason.”

“What?”

“You know that your father sometimes had financial problems?”  Tony nodded.  “Well, I think he was going through one of those bad patches.  Letting Paul go saved some money.  He got me to do some extra work and hired someone on a short-term basis while Mr Paddington was visiting.  Later on, he hired the Langleys.”

In a very casual voice, Tony asked, “And Cris wasn’t right?”

“Excuse me?”

“He wasn’t right to call my Mom _Mommy_?”

“What?  Of course not.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.  Christopher’s mother worked with Paul when the DiNozzos first took the house.  She’d just gone back to work after the baby was born.  I was working there as well but the marriage broke up soon afterwards and she went back to her family in Chicago and Paul kept the boy.  I helped look after him – and I think it was me looking after him that gave the mistress the idea of taking me on as your nanny.”

“And you’re sure his name was Christopher?”

“Yes, I am.  I went to his Christening.”

“I see,” Tony slumped back in his chair.

“Why does all this matter, Anthony?  After all these years?”

“It doesn’t,” said Tony, “Like I said, I met up with him and it was interesting.  He told me all sorts of stories of when we were children together.”

“You moped a lot when he went,” remembered Lilly, “I think your Mom would have brought him back, but Mr DiNozzo was firm.  And then when she found out …”

“Found out what?”

“Some things went missing … they realised afterwards.  Mostly some of your toys and they thought it might have been that Christopher had got confused about what was his and what was yours.  But there was something else …”

“A locket with Mom’s hair in it,” said Tony.

“Yes, how did you know?  She was very upset, I remember.  The locket had been a gift from her mother, and she’d put your first baby curl in it along with a piece of Mr DiNozzo’s hair.”

Tony allowed the conversation to drift to talk of Lilly’s great-nieces and nephews and they left with promises of an early return.  Lilly shook Gibbs’ hand firmly and drew his head down level with her ear,

“You look after my boy,” she instructed, “He needs looking after sometimes – we all do.”

“Will do, Ma’am,” Gibbs promised before following Tony out.

As Gibbs drove them back to DC he said, “Want to tell me what that was about?”

Tony turned dark serious eyes on Gibbs, “Not yet.  Is that OK?”

“Sure.  I’m ready when you are.”

Tony blinked and then turned his attention back to the road and didn’t speak again until they were back at Gibbs’ house.

“You coming in?” asked Gibbs.

“No.  I’m heading home.  Thanks, Boss.”

“Not sure what I did,” confessed Gibbs.

“You helped,” said Tony simply.

END FLASHBACK

“Lilly,” said Cris after a pause, “She was the nanny, wasn’t she?”

“That’s right.”

“She must be pretty old by now.”

“She is.  She remembered you – _Christopher.”_ Cris opened his mouth to correct Tony but Tony shook his head, “Don’t.  Please, don’t.”

Cris smiled ruefully, “When did you figure it out?”

“Just now, when I said you played it wrong – I didn’t mean the music.”

“What then?”

“If you’d said that Senior was your Dad, I might have believed you.  But you chose the wrong parent.”

“How so?”

Tony managed a laugh, “My co-workers would tell you that I always suspect the wife … but in this case, I couldn’t.  I just couldn’t believe that the mother I knew would do what you said.”

“Lots of women get pregnant out of marriage,” said Cris.

“I know, believe me, I know.  And that wasn’t what I meant.  I couldn’t believe that Mom would have let you be sent away, would have let her son be sent away and never have contact with him again.  That was my sticking point.  Part of me could believe you were my brother and I could see from the photos that we were happy together, but I could never believe that you were my mother’s son.  I might have believed that Senior would send a child away – hell, he did – but not Mom.”

Cris laughed, “So I should have chosen your Dad not your Mom!  Huh!  If only I’d known.”

“But there wasn’t any money in the DiNozzos, was there?  And that’s the real reason you did it.”

“I never meant to hurt anyone,” said Cris, “Living with your family was the best part of my childhood.  I used to dream that Mrs DiNozzo was my mother, that you were my little brother and that we were all meant to be together.  So, when I met you again, I was able to be convincing – I was convincing, wasn’t I?”  Tony nodded.  “I was able to be convincing because I was living out something that was real to me.”

“I know.”

“And you didn’t say anything,” said Cris.

“I never said I believed you,” said Tony softly.

“Why not?”

Tony shrugged, “I guess part of me wanted to believe it.  You gave me back some of my childhood, I liked you, I wanted a family, so I sort of went along with it.  I didn’t think it was doing any harm.”

“Until I mentioned the Paddington trust?”

“I was suspicious but, if you were my brother, it would be reasonable for you to want a share in the family money.”

“You never asked for proof – never asked to see the DNA results.”

“Would you have shown them to me?”

It was Cris’s turn to shrug, “Who knows?  I was riding my luck from the moment I introduced myself at the funeral.”

“Or manoeuvred me in to introducing myself,” corrected Tony.

“I watched and learned from your father.  And why _didn’t_ you ask for the proof?”

“I guess I didn’t want to know for sure.  Until I had proof, I could go along with it, stick with the dream.  Bit like you did when you pretended to be my brother.”

Tony finished his drink and stood up, looking suddenly weary, “I’m going now,” he said, “Thanks for the photos … and the memories.  You gave me something back I didn’t know I’d lost.”

“What about the money?” asked Cris, “Can I expect a visit from the police?”

“No extradition treaty between Morocco and the US.  But I guess you already know that, you chose well.  And I wouldn’t do that anyway, I like you, Cris.  I wish things had been different …”  He held out his hand but Cris gave him a hug instead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

As Tony walked away, he heard Cris back at the piano playing _As Time Goes By._   He stood by the door listening until the piece ended and he heard Cris playing his Mom’s riff,

“Here’s looking at you, kid!” said Cris.

Tony nodded once and walked away.  He didn’t look back.

NCISNCIS

Gibbs wasn’t surprised when DiNozzo walked into his kitchen a couple of days later.

“Hey, Boss.  Picked you a bottle of … something alcoholic at the airport,” he put a bottle on the kitchen table.

“Thanks.”

“I’m ready now,” said Tony.

“OK.  Shoot.”

“Cris told me he was my brother … half-brother.”

“And you believed him?  ‘Cos fathering another kid seemed the sort of thing that Senior might do?”

“I might have believed that but that wasn’t what he said.”

“You mean …?”

“He said my Mom had him before she married Senior.  Kept him in the house for a while until Senior sent him away.”

“And you believed that?”

Tony looked up from the kitchen table, “No, not for a minute.  Mom wouldn’t have done that – and that’s not me being naïve or trusting, she just wouldn’t have done it.  I could, at a pinch, have seen her giving him up for adoption but not to have him for ten years and then send him away without a word.  No, not that.”

“And what did you do?”

“I-I wanted it to be true.  I even told him before that he felt like my brother.  I don’t know, I may have given him permission to do it.”

“Is that what you believe?”

“No, not really.  But to start with, before he told me he was my brother it felt … nice.  I had someone from my childhood who looked out for me, someone who acted like a big brother.  I’d always wondered what that would feel like and with Cris, I thought I’d found out.”

“What did you do?”

“I kinda went along with it.  I figured he wasn’t doing any harm and for weeks nothing changed.  I thought perhaps he was just looking for family too.  Maybe I should have said something, done something.  I think he was testing me.”

“How so?”

“He told me he’d had a DNA test done.  Offered to show me the results but I didn’t take him up on it.”

“How did he get your Mom’s DNA?  Oh wait, the locket with the hair!”

Tony nodded at Gibbs’ characteristic astute deduction, “He said she’d given it to him as a parting gift.”

“What happened to make you realise something else was going on?”

“He started talking about getting money to buy his apartment.  He was good.  You remember that night I’d got punched by the witness?”  Gibbs nodded.  “He came round and was real sympathetic – it felt nice.  And he had a phone call about buying the place.”

“And he asked you for money?”

“Nope.  He started talking about a Paddington trust.  Money my grandfather put into a trust for his grandchildren when he dies.  Said he should be entitled to some of it and wondering how he could get in on the trust.”

“Your grandfather didn’t die, did he?”

“No, still alive and kicking.  But Cris said he could get a loan on the strength of being in the trust.”

“And what did you do?”

“Gave him the name of the family solicitor in London, you know – the guy who called me when Uncle Clive died.”

“And did he contact them?”

Tony shook his head, “No, I phoned them with a casual enquiry, but they’d never heard from him.”

“And what happened next?”

“Cris said that Hubbards were optimistic.  That they’d need their own DNA proof, but it would be a slam dunk.  Well, I’m guessing Mr Hubbard wouldn’t have used those words, but you get the idea.”

“He took a risk, didn’t he?  That you wouldn’t check with them?”

“It was all a risk, Gibbs.  That’s another reason why I probably would have believed him if he’d said he was Senior’s son.  It sounded like the sort of thing Senior would have done.  I think he was sure I believed him and wouldn’t do any checking.”

“And what happened in the end?”

“He finally went for it.  Said the money from in the trust was in the bag … but not yet and wouldn’t be in time for him to close the deal on his apartment.  He didn’t actually ask for the money but …”

“He would’ve done if you hadn’t offered?”

“Yep.  And I played the loving little brother and offered to lend him the money.”

“How much?”

“100 grand.”

“DiNozzo!”

“He protested, objected … but then gave in and said he’d print out a contract.  Said he’d pay interest and everything.  He gave me his bank details; I gave him a hug … and that was it.”

“And what was _it_?”

“Three days later he flew to Casablanca once he knew that the money was in his account.”

“So you’re down 100K!  Dammit, DiNozzo!  What you going to do?  Can you _afford_ to lose that much?”

“Jeez, Gibbs – just how much comp time do you think I get paid?  Of course I can’t afford it.”

“So, did you get the money back when you went to Morocco?”

“No, I’ll let him have it.”

“Dammit, DiNozzo – you can’t let him get away with that!”

“I figure I owe him something, Gibbs.  The photos, the memories – they were real and I’m glad to have them.”

“Well, that’s good to know, DiNozzo but 100 thousand dollars is a lot to pay for some photos … _and_ being betrayed.”

“I agree.  Fortunately, I have some clever and devious friends …”

“What?”

“I enlisted the help of McFixit.”

“What did McGee do?”

“We sent a message to Cris’s bank saying a deposit of 100 grand was on its way … I figured that would be the signal for Cris to get on the plane to Morocco … oh yeah, I may have used my Federal Agent status for my own personal use by having a check on departures from the US … and once I could see that he’d booked a flight … well, McGee did some of his wizardry and recalled 90K back from Cris’s bank account.”

“So you let him have 10K?”

“Like I said, I was grateful for some of what he’d done.  And it was kinda my fault he’d left the country.”

“How do you figure that out?”

“I could have put a stop to it, told him I didn’t believe him - but I didn’t.  I thought 10 grand was a reasonable amount to pay – and it will help him out in Morocco.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?  Why did you tell McGee and not me?”

Tony smiled reminiscently, “Remember when Abby got a restraining order against Mike Mawher?”

“That creepy crime-cleaning slime ball?”

“You have a way with words!  Yes, that’s the one.  You asked her why she got a restraining order rather than coming to you?”

“Yeah?  So what?”

“And she said she’d wanted him restrained, not beaten to a pulp with a baseball bat.”

“Your point?”

“I guess I felt the same way about Cris.  I didn’t want him … damaged.  I wanted to deal with him on my terms.”

“By letting him have ten thousand of your hard-earned dollars?”

Tony gazed at Gibbs for a few moments, “If necessary, yes.  Like I said, I felt responsible.”

Gibbs took his own turn at gazing at Tony before saying, “You don’t have to be responsible for everything, Tony.  This wasn’t your fault.  Maggio made his own decisions.  Remember that,” he gripped Tony’s shoulder and shook it gently.

“Understood, Boss.”

“OK.  You want a cowboy steak?”

“Have I ever said no?”

“No,” agreed Gibbs solemnly.  He turned towards his fridge and then turned back, “But the next time someone turns up claiming to be a long-lost relative you’re going to make damn sure you get a DNA test done before you welcome them with open arms!  Understood?”

“Loud and clear, Boss.  Loud and clear!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an epilogue to come now …


	6. Epilogue

A few days later, Tony was shutting off his computer and gathering his gear when Tim came and stood by his desk.

“Hey, Tony.”

“What?”

“You want to play squash tomorrow morning?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard.  Do you want a game of squash tomorrow?  We’ve got the weekend off.”

“You hate squash.”

“I don’t hate squash.”

“Excuse me, I should have said, you hate playing squash with _me_.”

“Sometimes,” admitted Tim.

“And you want – willingly – to play with me?”

“Sure,” said Tim bravely.

“Then you’re on.  Bit of easy meat is a good way to start the weekend off,” grinned Tony.

“And afterwards …”

“Afterwards?  There’ll be an _afterwards_?”

“I thought we could have breakfast at that café near the Kennedy Centre.”

“I love it there!”

“And then I thought we could play Tetris Titans Transworld …”

“I’m good at Tetris!”

“Not as good as me,” said Tim sternly.

“You’re on!”

NCISNCIS

“Thanks, Tim,” said Tony the next day.

“What?  For thrashing you at Tetris?”

“No.  No, I’m not thanking you for that!  In fact, I’m fairly sure you rigged the whole thing in some way.  Nobody could be that quick!”

Tim shrugged in a slightly sinister way, “You keep thinking that if it makes you feel better.”

“I’m going to ask Abby about this,” said Tony broodingly, “She’ll know.”

“If it makes you feel better.”

Tony frowned for a couple more seconds but then shook his head as if to rid himself of evil thoughts, “No, I was thanking you for … well, today.  You know, squash, breakfast … and handing me my ass in your diabolical computer game.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And thank you for helping me out with that other thing.  You know, Cris.”

“Did it work out OK?” asked Tim cautiously.

“Yep, fine.  And thanks for not … well, prying.”

“You know I’m there for you, Tony.”

“Thanks, Tim.”

“You want to tell me what it was all about?” probed Tim delicately.

Tony took another gulp of his coffee, “I guess.  You remember that photo you all saw of me as a kid with Cris?”

“Yeah.”

“Turned out he had a whole load more.  And he showed them to me, and it turned out that him and I had grown up together until I was about four years old.”

“Happy memories?” wondered Tim.

“Don’t know – because I didn’t remember him at all.  Oh, apart from him burying me in the sandpit.”

Tim nodded wisely.  He had sometimes had a similar impulse towards Tony.

“But the photos showed us getting on well.  And I liked him.  He was a nice guy.”

“But?”

“Why should there a but?”

“Well,” said Tim judiciously, “For one thing, this is you we’re talking about.  And for another, you had me doing hinky things with money and his bank account.”

“Yeah, course.  Well, we got on well.  Hell, I even told him that it almost felt as if he was a brother.”

“Oh,” said Tim, beginning to see where things were headed.

“And soon afterwards, he told me he was.  A half-brother.”

“Cris DiNozzo …”

“Actually no.  He said he was my Mom’s son.  That he’d been sent away when I was about four and he’d never seen my Mom again.  He said he had DNA evidence and everything.”

“And what did you do?”

Tony looked embarrassed, “I kinda went along with it.  I never really believed it – didn’t seem possible that Mom would have abandoned a child, but I didn’t challenge him.  Didn’t ask for the proof.”

“Why not?”

“’Cos I guess it felt … nice.  I’d always wondered what it would be like to have a brother or sister – never thought it would turn out to be an _older_ sibling.  So, for a while, I went along with it.  And we just got to know each other better.”

“Until?” prompted Tim.

“Until he started – oh, so carefully – talking about money.”

“He tried to get money off you?”

“No.  He said he’d heard there was a Paddington trust – set up by my grandfather for his grandchildren.  Wondered if he could be included.”

“And is there?”

“Is there what?”

“A Paddington trust?”

“I don’t know.  Doesn’t seem right to ask.  Guess I’ll find out one day.  But I said to Cris that I didn’t have high expectations when it comes to family.”  Tony sighed and looked out across the Potomac River.

“And what did he do?”

“I gave him the details of the family law firm in London and waited to see what he’d do.”

“And what did he do then?”

“Nothing.  I checked later.  But he told me he’d set it all in motion, that it was likely he’d get in on it – but not in time to get the apartment he wanted.”

“And he asked you for money to tide him over?”

“No.  I offered.”

“What?  Why?”

“I think I wanted to bring it to a conclusion.  I couldn’t bear to listen to him trying to raise the subject tactfully.  I knew he wanted to, so I decided to offer myself up.”

“Huh,” said Tim thoughtfully.

“Huh?”

“What?”

“Is that all you’re going to say - _huh_?”

“Excuse me?”

“No _what the hell were you thinking, Tony?_ No _how stupid was that, DiNozzo?”_

“No,” said Tim calmly.

“No?”

“No.  I figure you’ve said all that to yourself already.  And besides …”

“Yeah?”

“I think I understand.  Family … well, I know a bit what it’s like not to have the perfect family.  I can imagine wanting one … and trying to find one.  And there’s nothing wrong with daring to hope, Tony.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.  _Dare to dream_ isn’t a bad motto – and that’s what you did.  And you had the sense to know when to face reality.  I don’t see anything to beat yourself up about.”

Tony nodded and they both gazed in silence across the river for a minute or so.  Characteristically, Tony broke the silence,

“Thanks, Tim.  For everything.”

Tim nodded in acknowledgement.  Shortly afterwards as they got ready to go their separate ways Tony said,

“Thanks again, Tim.”

Tim shrugged, “It’s what family does, Tony.”

They shook hands silently and then Tony watched as Tim strode away.  Family, he decided, was hard to fit neatly into a box but he figured he had a dysfunctional – yet, very functional – family at NCIS.  And perhaps he had family of a sort in Cris because of their shared past and, despite what had happened, he was still grateful to Cris for what he had given him. 

Tony had thought about asking Cris for the return of his mother’s locket but somehow, he thought Cris might need it more than he did.  And Tony was, after all, accustomed to unsatisfactory family members – he was used to making lemonade out of the lemons life sent him. 

Tony smiled as he walked away – although he’d make sure to talk to Abby about how Tim might have outwitted him at Tetris!  And when he was ready, he’d arrange a rematch …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished at last! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who’s taken an interest in this story – the NCIS characters are safely back in their box.


End file.
